The Fiercely Loyal Type
by N7Valentin
Summary: Trapped in a vicious cycle of poverty, a young Voldo resigns himself to a life of near slavery where his only comfort comes from terrorizing the family that depends on him. When an infamous weapons dealer comes to Palermo offering him an escape, Voldo must consider just how much he is willing to sacrifice to break the cycle once and for all.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This is my first full sized fanfiction, though certainly not my first time writing from Voldo's perspective. In this story, I hope to analyze the tense and admittedly unhealthy relationships within Voldo's rather dysfunctional family of seven. Of course, Vercci's later involvement should put a nice spin on that. Note, however, that this story will not contain any smut and/or romance elements. This is less of a focus on Voldo and Vercci and more of an origin story for Voldo himself._

_I feel that it is reasonable to assume that "Voldo" is not his birth name, if only for the fact that it isn't an Italian name at all. For that reason, I refer to young Voldo as "Vincente Valerio," only switching to his better known name when I deem it appropriate. For reference, Voldo is twenty years old, and his brother Matteo is sixteen._

_Anyways, this is my first time navigating through this website, and I certainly hope that you enjoy my story! Please feel free to leave me a review with your comments, critique, and recommendations. In fact, I encourage it!_

_Thank you very much for reading!_

_-Valentín_

* * *

"Vincente, wake up. It's time for breakfast."

Monotone as always, his mother called his name over and over as she tore the blankets from around his huddled form. Vincente curled around himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Just once in his life, he wanted to wake up of his own accord.

"Stay in bed for one more second, and I'm giving your portion to your brothers. I'm certain they'd appreciate it. God knows there's not enough food to go around in this household."

"And whose fault is that? Certainly not mine." He had nothing to fear: his mother wouldn't risk angering him. Not when the family's meager livelihood, if one could even call it that, depended on his blood, sweat, and tears. As expected, she took a hesitant step backwards at his cutting tone before losing her courage entirely and stalking out of his room with her tail between her legs. "…Puttana. Go to hell."

Despite his exhaustion, he dragged himself out of bed and began his morning routine. The fading moonlight cast dismal shadows on his spartan furniture as he dressed himself. How very fitting, considering his mood. It would be another hour or two until the sun rose. He muttered a string of endless curses under his breath as he stumbled down the hallway to the kitchen where his family sat waiting for him.

"Buon giorno, Big Brother!" Matteo, cheerful as ever, beckoned him over from the breakfast table. "Are you still tired? …Here. You can have my share of the coffee. It isn't as if I'll be needing it." With his only functioning arm, he pushed the mug over towards Vincente's seat. Though he still possessed the ability to move the limb, he lacked the motor function to control his clumsy, underdeveloped fingers. In a way, Vincente took pleasure in the fact that no matter how far he sank, there would always be someone else in their household more miserable than he was. He cared for the boy- truly, he did- but after a decade of sixteen hour work days, he learned to take his victories where he could. Without a word, he swiped his chair out from under the table and slumped into the seat. He downed Matteo's cup of lukewarm, watered down coffee before starting on his own. As the family patriarch, he deserved it.

Every so often, his father stole frightened little glances at his joyless expression. Pathetic bastard. It hardly mattered who sired whom in this family- Vincente had a bone to pick with all of them, and if they knew what was good for them, they would pay him some well-deserved respect.

"Why are you even awake, Matteo? You could sleep in until noon like the other children, if you wanted."

"What do you mean 'like the other children?' I'm only four years younger than you!" Despite his claim to maturity, he puffed his cheeks with an immature pout.

"Yes, and when I was your age, I had already been working at the docks for six years. What do you do besides drain away all the money I earn?" Though he would never admit it, he regretted his words the second they escaped his lips. His brother's forlorn expression of pure guilt only served to deepen his wounds. Before he could apologize, however, his mother, in a rare authoritative moment, decided to take charge of the situation at hand.

"You speak like you're shouldering the family's burden on your own! What about your father and I? We-"

"Yes, pray tell, what about you and Father?" He slammed his hand on the table, effectively silencing her before she angered him further. "The man who can't even support his family without sending his own son off to work like a slave. And you..." With a snide and mirthless smile, he pointed an accusatory finger at his mother. "Can't keep your damned legs closed for one God forsaken minute. Like this family doesn't have enough mouths to feed as it is. Five sons. Ridiculous. We should fall to our knees and thank the Lord none of your daughters lived to take a single breath in this hellhole you've created for yourself. Truly, well done."

He watched on with a dull, unamused expression as his mother's face grew beet red with humiliation. "B-Blasphemy! God will punish you for-"

"Punish _me_? What more can He do? How could He possibly send me to Hell when I'm already in it?"

With trembling rage, she sent her palm flying at his cheek, though before she could make impact, her husband caught her arm in his grasp and tightened his grip upon her, urging her to calm herself. "Come, now," he implored, "The boy has a long day of work ahead of him. We can't send him to the docks with such a bruise on his face. What would the others say?"

"That I take after you- a brutish oaf and a womanizer. Basta. Everyone be silent- you're giving me a headache." He finished his last piece of bread as he stood and put on his thin coat. Without even a simple goodbye to his parents, he sauntered out of the house.

"…Have a good day at work, Vincente. Come home safe." Though Matteo knew his brother wouldn't hear, it still eased his guilt to wish him well. Unlike the others, he knew just how heavily he relied on the other man. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the familiar sight of his deformed right arm and the short stump that he couldn't always bear to call his left. It didn't matter if Vincente disrespected their parents, or beat the children, or swore like, well, a sailor. He sacrificed so much for the sake of their family, and Matteo would show his gratitude in any way he could. After having joined his brother for his early breakfast, he limped back to bed to rest until the afternoon, much like the other children.


	2. Chapter 2

A ship he didn't recognize sat in the harbor- a lumbering, powerful war vessel that could only belong to the military, or perhaps to a nobleman with far too much money and an ego to match. Ah, that must be him, Vincente noted- the man's velvet cape, in striking crimson, clashed against the dreary grey of the docks. Just as he suspected: a nobleman. He averted his gaze and forced himself to continue on with his work. Like most of the poor, he held a deep-rooted disdain for anyone who called himself a blueblood. For a moment, he considered knocking the man into the river. Certainly, he'd be whipped and hanged afterwards, but at least he'd be able to depart the earth with a smile on his face.

Instead, he merely shook away the frivolous daydream and climbed up the next mast in the line- a dull job, checking the sails, but it fell to him and him alone. After all, none amongst Vincente's colleagues shared his agility. It was a dull little joke amongst them- cats and Vincente always land on their feet. They were peasants, he pondered, and not particularly known for their sharp wits.

As he sat hundreds of feet above the ground, he locked eyes with the man in red. It was just a coincidence, he was sure. He didn't mean anything by it. And yet, he got the impression that the man wanted something from him. Perhaps it was his scrutinizing gaze, as if inspecting fine china, or perhaps it was the fact that their eye contact seemed to hold for years. He put aside the thought for the time being and attempted to focus back on the task at hand.

At the end of the day, however, he couldn't help but mention the strange occurrence to his fellow sailors. "Hey, Maurizio, did you happen to see that little peacock?" Vincente joked at the bar later on that evening.

"How could I miss it, the way he strutted about shaking his tail feathers?" The men burst into a fit of howling laughter, though they quieted themselves quickly at Vincente's request. He glanced around the room for the noble's presence before indicating that all was well and they could speak freely. Not as if a man like that would ever consider frequenting a shoddy tavern like theirs.

"He stared at me the entire time I was up there on the mast. I wanted to pluck his beady eyes out," Vincente mumbled as he took another sip of ale.

"Lucky you didn't try. _He_ would have blinded _you_."

"A sorry little bastard like that? Nonsense! Just look at me- what makes you think I wouldn't be able to outmatch a nobleman who's never worked a day in his life?"

"You really don't know who he is?" The man's solemn demeanor cast a shadow upon the group's collective mood. Most of the sailors silenced themselves, and Vincente could only listen on as Maurizio spoke. "He's a weapons dealer- a powerful one. He may not look like much, but his bodyguards are everywhere. They would have shot you full of arrows before you laid a single finger on their boss. You're a sailor, not a soldier. They kill men stronger and smarter than you on a regular basis. Not as though that's saying much."

"…You bastard." He caught that insult easily enough, and he gave Maurizio a playful punch in the side as payment for the discourtesy. "So, does this merchant of ours have a name, or will he forever be known as Signore Peacock?"

"That might actually be an improvement. Calls himself the 'Merchant of Death,' he does," chimed another sailor from his drunken stupor.

"Merda, so scary! I think I pissed my pants."

"Laugh all you want, Vincente. I saw it too- the way he looked at you. Watch your back, alright? I don't want to have to haul your sorry corpse out of the water."

"I'll be fine- I did nothing to provoke him. If anything, he's only jealous of my height. He won't kill me. More than likely, he'll just cut off my legs and try to attach them onto himself. God knows that rich bastard has the doctors to do it. Probably has his own private room in the best hospital in Italy."

"You're drunk," Maurizio stated plainly. "You should get home- your family is probably throwing a fit by now."

"To hell with them. These fifteen, twenty minutes every week with the lot of you is the only time when I'm actually happy." Even as he spoke, Vincente pushed himself off the stained barstool and stumbled towards the door. "All I want is a feast in my honor and a line of busty virgins scrambling over each other for the chance to bed me two at a time- is that so much to ask?"

"Go home, already, Vincente." With sympathetic laughter, Maurizio threw an olive in his general direction to urge him out the door. "And if you have to pass out on the street, don't fall down on your back like last time. If Pietro and Giuseppe hadn't found you, you would have choked on your own vomit."

"And my suffering would have been over. Thanks for nothing." With a charming little bow, Vincente sauntered out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Vincente struggled to stay awake, even as his mother piled another helping of risotto in front of him. Only Matteo bothered to wait for him to return before he began his meal.

"You don't have to wait for me, you know. Just eat with the others. I don't give a damn."

"I know," Matteo began with a sullen laugh, "You don't give a damn about anything."

Interestingly enough, their mother slapped her wooden spoon down on the table at her younger son's foul language. How very hypocritical. Vincente glared at her from the corner of his eye as he shoveled down his dinner. It was almost as if she had forgotten about their confrontation that morning. More than likely, his father talked some sense into her. If Vincente ever decided to walk out the door, taking his income with him, then the family would likely have to give up the house. Maybe the youngest children would even have to go to work.

Speaking of the devil, the middle child and the hope of the family, the illustrious, twelve year old Federico, came stomping down the hallway.

"Coming to check up on us, sweetheart?" his mother asked with a nurturing, cooing tone.

Vincente lurched forward as he feigned the urge to throw up in his mouth. She never spoke that way to him. Perhaps she did when he was a toddler, but once Matteo came along and she sent him on odd jobs to help support the family, all the coddling came to an end. Vincente was almost certain she saw him as more of a roommate than a son. Just once in his life, he wanted to be taken care of instead of serving as the caregiver.

"It's noisy, that's all," Federico complained. "It's already midnight, and I'm trying to sleep."

"We're sorry, love. We'll keep it down from now on, and-"

"No, no we won't." Vincente glared down at the boy with a look of sheer disgust. "I do enough for you. I came back from a sixteen hour work day. If I want to talk, then I will. What do you need more sleep for, anyways? You do it all day."

His mother spoke to him in a slow, placating tone. "You know he goes to school with the others. He needs his rest."

"And I don't?!" Perhaps it was due to his drunken stupor, or his lingering bitterness towards his mother, but his voice shook the very foundation of their home as he screamed bloody murder. "Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?"

"Are you going to complain about work again?" Federico mumbled under his breath with a tired sigh. "You know, if you didn't want to work a stupid dead-end job, you should have gone to school like me. You ruined your own life, and you don't get to complain. You're-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Vincente had already grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall of their home, leaving a bloody gash where the boy's skull hit the stone. His entire body shook with unrestrained rage as he clenched his fingers around his younger brother's throat hard enough to leave angry, purple marks against his flesh. The next moments passed by in a blur. The entire household awoke, rushing to the kitchen in a panicked frenzy. His father's arms wound around his own, tugging desperately in an attempt to free Federico from his grip. All Vincente could focus on was the boy's metamorphosis: a burst of color that changed his once smooth, pale cheeks to a flushed pink, to a blossoming red, to a deep shade of blue. Matteo took charge of the other children and hid behind the counter as his mother screamed at him to "release her baby this instant."

_What about me? Am I not your son?_

"I-I'm going to call the guardsmen, and they'll throw you in prison for the rest of your life if I have anything to say about it!" she wailed at the top of her lungs.

"…No you won't. You'd let me kill him if I wanted to; you'd even help me bury the body afterwards. If you want any of these little bastards to keep on going to school, you don't have any choice but to put up with me." As he released the boy, allowing his limp, unconscious body to tumble to the ground, Vincente took in a series of shaky breaths. Lost in the moment, he savored his catharsis. "You think I don't understand what you're doing? I don't need an education to know that you're taking advantage of me. Sacrifice the eldest to provide for the youngest. That's charming."

"He's still breathing, thank the Lord." His father whispered, ignoring his eldest son's complaints. His mother fell to her knees next to her husband, and the two shared a tearful embrace.

"You stupid boy! They're going to school to help _all_ of us! This is for the sake of the entire family!" Her voice, laced with venom, held such hatred that it would have turned anyone else's blood to ice. Vincente, however, had already grown numb to her scorn. "Your brothers will become scholars and priests! They would have remembered all the sacrifices we made for their sake, but instead, now, all they will remember is this! They will never forgive you, do you hear me?! They will raise all of us up, and they'll cast you out onto the streets! And do you know what, Vincente? I won't blame them. I won't, and neither will their father, and… and… Oh, how could you do this to your own brother?"

"What did you expect? I'm your son. I'm not exactly the nurturing type. Perhaps if they'd be so quick to abandon me, I should go ahead and cut them off first. How about I pack my bags and leave tonight?"

"No! V-Vincente, please, you know your mother. She's just… Why don't you sit down and finish your dinner? Mother and I will take care of everything. You've had a long day. Relax and take a rest."

"I was right, wasn't I? You'd let me get away with murder so long as I still proved useful. You disgust me." He ran his trembling fingers through his hair as he forced himself to relax. "I'm going to bed. Don't bother me."

His parents' faint whispers died down into a tense silence as he made his way towards his room. The door to his siblings' bedroom creaked open, and Matteo poked his head through the crack. He drew back in fear when Vincente approached.

"Are you afraid of me, Matteo?" He didn't know why he even bothered to stop and ask; he was exhausted.

"…Do you hate us?"

With his energy drained, Vincente considered his words carefully. He didn't have the willpower to start another argument. "Despite my threats, I haven't left yet, now have I?"

A hesitant smile graced Matteo's face as he opened the door wider. He turned towards his younger siblings and urged them to go to bed before exiting their room. A look of worry replaced any relief, however, as he looked upon his brother's disheveled state.

"Y-Your hands…"

Vincente raised them up towards the moonlight to inspect the damage. His brother and father had clawed at them until they bled. It was nothing, however, to the terror and agony that he inflicted on Federico. He'd do it all again if he had the chance.

"Oh, am I bleeding? I didn't feel a thing."

Matteo couldn't maintain eye contact. He studied the cracks in the wooden floor as he spoke. "You're… You've gotten mean, Brother. I've always taken your side in the past, but this time, I can't… You could have killed him."

"I wanted to. I would have even turned myself in afterwards. Had them hang me. One last 'fuck you' to this family from beyond the grave."

"Don't joke like that!" Matteo pleaded with a quiet whine. "…You know, Vincente, maybe you should leave. I-I'm not trying to make you go or anything! I'd miss you, but… Well, everyone might be better off, you included. Mother and Father don't like arguing with you. You don't see it because you storm off to work afterwards, but Mother always cries after you fight with her."

"That's because everything I say is true," Vincente countered with a scornful hiss.

"Maybe. But it still hurts to hear it." Wise as always. A shame Matteo lacked the hands to record his thoughts in writing. "And if you left, you'd only have to work to support yourself. You could finally relax a little."

"And if the brats had to work? Mother and Father would flood Palermo with their tears."

"I think our brothers would end up there regardless of whether they went to school or not. Even if they're educated, they're still… Well, you know. We don't have any special lineage or honorable titles. Who would ever choose a peasant who attended a mediocre school over a nobleman's son with the finest quality of education? Do you really think they'll succeed? Federico, and Alessio, and Lorenzo?"

"Of course not," Vincente muttered as he entered the dark confines of his room. Matteo followed him in and sat down on the stool in the corner.

An awkward tension filled the room before Matteo dared to speak again. "If you know this is all for nothing, then why do you stay?"

As if he hadn't asked himself that very question time and again. Without bothering to wash the drying blood caked onto the back of his hands, Vincente collapsed onto his bed and rubbed at his eyes. By all means, he should have left ages ago. His hard work went unappreciated by spoiled children with horrible attitudes and callous parents with unreasonable expectations. Of course, at his core, he already knew why he endured it all. With a dismissive laugh, he peeled off one of his socks and tossed it in Matteo's direction, watching with amusement as his brother recoiled in horror.

"Well, what can I say? I'm the fiercely loyal type. Someone has to take care of you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Vincente, wake up. It's time for breakfast."

Monotone as always, his mother called his name over and over as she tore the blankets from around his huddled form. He curled around himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Just once in his life, he wanted to wake up on his own accord.

"…You don't have any excuses to stay in bed. We let you sleep in." she muttered as he walked out of the room.

He cracked his eyes open, only to be met with the glaring light of the sun. How depressing, he thought, that waking up after sunrise should be a strange occurrence to him. Though he knew his overseer would reprimand him for his tardiness, he couldn't be bothered to rush, especially with the pounding headache threatening to burst a hole through his left temple.

When he finally entered the kitchen, his family froze in place, spoons lifted in midair as their eyes widened in fear.

"Buon giorno, Vincente!" Of course it was Matteo who broke the silence. Vincente only grunted in response, though he took his seat at the table all the same despite the awkwardness of it all. Federico wore a scarf around his neck, hiding the damage from last night. The young boy let out a timid whimper as he turned his head, looking anywhere but at his eldest brother.

"You have a message, son," his father had said as he slid a pristine envelope across the table. The wax seal was already broken. Bastards: they went through his letters while he slept. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, however, once cold realization sunk in. A wax seal? Emblazoned with a family crest, of all things. He ran his fingertips over its smooth contours. Nobody of any importance ever felt the need to contact him. To suddenly receive something like this could only mean trouble. He turned the envelope in his palm to double check the recipient, only to come face to face with his name, written in swirling, elegant penmanship. It was the only thing he could read.

"Why don't you tell me what it says, since surely, the children already read it out loud for the family?" He cast an accusatory glare at his father, who looked back only with an expression of absolute defeat.

"I'm sorry, Vincente. They got into it before your mother and I could stop them. But it's just another job request- nothing important. Your brothers were bored of it within seconds. I don't even remember the details. It's-"

"Basta!" He shook his head in irritation as he cut his father off mid-sentence. The headache from earlier still remained. "I have a hangover, and I would appreciate a little silence."

His mother, who had otherwise kept quiet, couldn't help but comment on the irony of the situation. "So you can't be quiet for the children's sake, but if you want silence, we all have to do as you say or risk a thrashing?"

"Precisely." He responded without missing a beat as he unfolded the letter. As expected, he couldn't understand what was written. "…Which one of you went through my messages?"

His brothers slumped in their seats, though Federico, perhaps eager to return to Vincente's good graces, offered his knowledge. "It was Alessio. He didn't mean anything by it. In his class, they're starting to get into advanced grammar, so he was curious. Big brother, I'm sorry. He was just playing around…"

"What does it say?" He was still too tired to argue. He slid the letter over to his siblings as they all fought for the chance to impress the family with their newly acquired knowledge.

"It says, 'Signore Valerio,'" Alessio bellowed in his deepest, most mature voice, "It has come to my attention that of the sailors of Palermo, you boast the title of the most skilled. In fact, with meticulous care, I observed you in action yesterday, as you-"

His heart sank in his chest as his brothers rambled on and on, taking turns reciting the lines. He already knew enough. It was a job request from a nobleman who watched him work. "…Who signed it?"

"It says… It says 'Signore Peacock.' Do you know what that means? Is that a grownup thing? …Hey, Vincente, are you listening?"

As if it couldn't get any worse. His mind raced as he scrutinized everything he said the other night at the bar. Had the so-called 'Merchant of Death been eavesdropping on his conversations? After all, he already knew that Vincente openly mocked him.

"…I should get going." Without even eating breakfast, he threw on his coat and made his way to the docks.


	5. Chapter 5

A familiar flash of color against the dreary grey background. The scent of bergamot and sandalwood. Though Vincente towered over the Merchant of Death, the other man seemed to overshadow him from the very beginning. He walked with such pride: long, confident steps with his head held high. Vincente repressed the desire to flee, not of out fear, but due only to shame. Though he normally held a cold indifference towards the nobility, even he felt dwarfed by this man's grandiosity. He seemed to embody every aspect of his position in life.

"You answered my summons. Interesting. To be honest, I am surprised you can read."

"Surprise, surprise, yet again- I can't."

"Oh, I know," he stated with an amused lilt to his voice, indicative of his thankfulness to Vincente for playing along. "In truth, I was only curious to see if you would admit it. Blatant honesty suits you well. Tell me, who had the honor of reading through the letter on your behalf? Was it Federico? He's the one you strangled, isn't that right? He must have been desperate to win your forgiveness, then. Or was it his twin, Lorenzo, or maybe even little Alessio?"

The blood drained from Vincente's face as he listened to this merchant recite a series of private facts about his family. While he knew the man had been listening in on his conversation at the bar, he didn't anticipate this turn of events. "…Have you been following me?"

"Not personally, no," the merchant admitted, "Though I assure you, my network of spies performs adequately enough to give me an advantage in just about any situation."

"Then why bother asking me who read the letter? Providing your spies are as effective as you claim, you shouldn't ask questions you already know the answers to. It's incredibly unflattering, especially for a man of your status. If I may be blatantly honest, Signore Peacock."

"Hm, a terrible attitude and a temper to match, just as rumored. Very interesting, indeed."

Vincente narrowed his eyes as he observed the man's body language. He couldn't read his intentions. "I assume that had you wanted me dead, I'd be in twenty separate pieces at the bottom of the canal by now, legs excluded, of course."

"You assume your corpse would deserve hiding. You're a peasant. Nobody would look for you."

"Matteo was right- the truth hurts after all." He reciprocated the faint smile so generously given to him by the other man.

"I didn't come here only to tease you. I meant what I said in the letter. I _do_ want to hire you- just not necessarily for sailing."

"I suspected as much. You nobles all want the same thing, but you're too clean and dainty to dare visit the brothels. You need your own private whores, am I correct?"

"But of course you are. Just not in this context."

"…How about we discuss this 'business proposition' over a drink?"

"Only if I choose the location."

"Too good for my favorite bar?" Vincente countered.

"Your favorite bar is a back alley hovel."

Without another word, the merchant turned on his heel and began walking through the winding streets of Palermo. Vincente didn't even hesitate before following after him.

* * *

"That's close enough," the merchant interjected, "I must insist that you remain three paces behind me as we walk together."

"Three paces? What am I, your wife?"

"Judging by the reports of your mother, I could certainly do much worse."

"I suppose you could. Judging by my father, so could I. Oh, very well, I accept your proposal. …I get to wear the dress, though." Though he maintained his biting tone, in truth, Vincente grew more and more uncomfortable by the second the farther they walked. "Ehi! Signore Peacock! Turn around- it's your fiancé calling from precisely three paces behind you."

The nearby townspeople openly gawked at the spectacle, though to Vincente's surprise, the merchant remained unfazed.

"Well, I…" He was expecting the man to make a scene. After years of putting up with his family, Vincente had grown accustomed to turmoil. The other man's calm indifference actually managed to set him on edge. "Are you aware that you are leading me into the noble's district of the city?" While no physical walls separated the classes, the invisible barrier of societal pressure served just as well.

"Only the best for my bride. Where else are we going to find your wedding dress?" The merchant called loud and clear enough to turn the heads of everyone within earshot. It was Vincente's turn to cringe, then, as his own joke backfired. Nobody ever played along as well as this man did.

"…Tell me, do you regret it now?" The merchant muttered as they continued on their way.

"Regret what? The teasing?"

"I'll have you know that I never lose a battle, verbal or otherwise. Nothing you say can disconcert me. In fact, I will only use your words against you. I recommend silence."

A deep blush blossomed across his cheeks at the gentle scolding. This man made him feel like such a child. For the first time in years, Vincente was almost ashamed at his own immaturity.

As they walked onwards, he watched the scenery evolve from grey and brown to pristine white and shimmering gold. So that was how the other half lived. He slid the palm of his hand against the smooth marble, though he flinched back once he heard the disgusted murmurs of the local residents, all bluebloods like the man three steps in front of him. The man led him through opulent gardens and meticulously cleaned pathways, ending at a building that towered over the surrounding landscape. Vincente peered through the windows into what was unmistakably a dining room. The carefree laughter of the patrons, men and women dressed in flowing silk and glittering gemstones, filtered through the doorway.

"I thought you said we were going to a bar."

"No, I agreed that we would discuss my business proposal over a drink. That drink just so happens to be the finest wine in Italy."

"Am I even getting paid for this?" It was an obvious question and one he should have mentioned ages ago.

"Would you leave if I said you weren't?"

Without waiting for an answer, the man motioned to the doorman, who cleared the way for the merchant and his companion. He walked inside without even turning back to see if Vincente followed behind him.

"This is really a restaurant," muttered Vincente as he trailed after the shorter man.

"You shouldn't state the obvious. It's incredibly unflattering, if I may be blatantly honest."

There it was again: using his words against him. Wouldn't his fellow sailors love to see him, then? The witty Vincente at a loss for words. "Then… are we eating something?"

"That _is_ what one does at a restaurant, or so I hear. You must be famished. After all, you haven't yet eaten breakfast, correct? I'll have you know my spies truly _are_ as skilled as I claim."

"You may regret coming here. I eat a lot."

"Of course you do, poor thing. Nourished on risotto so watery it may as well be soup."

"It's awful." Discomfort clearly plastered on his features, he slid into a chair opposite the merchant. All eyes were on them, and the restaurant momentarily grew quiet as the patrons whispered their commentary on the spectacle.

"Tell me, are you ashamed?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Vincente mumbled.

"Sit up- you're slouching."

Though stunned by the other man's tone, Vincente immediately corrected his posture. All the while, the Merchant of Death smiled knowingly at his obedience.


	6. Chapter 6

"And just to clarify, you're paying for everything?"

"It's a little too late to ask that, isn't it?" The merchant pointed at the towering pile of bones and shells to Vincente's right. Indeed, it was too late; he'd already devoured enough food to sustain his family for weeks. With hesitant movements, he sifted through the plate sporting bones of every shape and size.

"I don't remember the last time I had meat." He couldn't hide the shame and disappointment in his voice.

"I don't remember a day when I went without."

"It must be nice to live life in your shoes, Signore Peacock, even if you do admit to dining on your lesser pheasant cousins."

"That's quite enough." The joke had run its course. Vincente picked up on that fact easily enough.

"What name would you prefer? 'Oh glorious Merchant of Death,' I assume?"

"My business partners know me as Signore Vercci, though those in your position, your status, if you will, never speak my name at all. They're far too busy begging me for coins." He was just teasing him, he knew. In a way, it was only fair. The tables had turned, and Vincente found himself in an unfavorable position, even in terms of wit.

"We're not talking about your business partners or the others in my status. We're talking about you and me."

"What you will call me depends entirely on your answer to the next set of questions. Are you listening?"

Vercci didn't even need to ask. From the very beginning, Vincente had been hooked on his every word. "Are you happy, Vincente?"

"What was that I said about asking questions you already knew the answers to?" Despite the nature of his words, they held none of his usual biting tone. This man, this Signore Vercci, managed to sap the rebellion right out of him.

"Where do you see yourself ten years from now? Still working at the docks, from six in the morning until ten at night? You will die by then, one way or another." He was right, of course. It was dangerous work. Though his footsteps were nimble, one wrong move, and he'd tumble down hundreds of feet to his death. Regardless of the nature of his work, Vincente's body itself was failing him. He woke up every morning to an ache in his bones so deep that nothing, from tonics to ointments, could alleviate his exhaustion.

"…I know."

"Your sacrifices mean nothing. Your brothers will fail. Regardless of their level of education, they will never advance beyond the peasantry."

"I know."

"This is more than just a job, I assure you of that. What I am offering you is an escape. As to be expected, my work takes me to the farthest corners of the globe in search of the rarest weapons known to mankind- and some even long forgotten. Of course, countless perils threaten the success of my missions, and I find myself in need of a bodyguard. While I already possess an army and an elite squadron both, I desire something a little more… personal. Someone to remain at my side, ever vigilant."

"I'm just a sailor, signore. I've never held a sword in my life."

"I suspected as much," replied the other man with his same confident tone. "But I'm certain that with the right training, you could blossom into something miraculous. How about it?"

He didn't know how to react. Nobody had ever said such a thing to him- that he was more than a disposable means to an end. That perhaps he could be someone worth keeping. The thought alone was more than enough to break through whatever cracks he had in his old, indifferent facade.

"How do you know that? You don't even know me- not really. You saw me work on a boat for one afternoon, you heard me complain about you in the bar later that evening, and then attack my brother once I returned home. I am a drunk and a wife beater in the making." He let out a sardonic laugh at that last statement. "What makes you think I wouldn't stab you in the back- literally- if I was even able to figure out which end of the sword to hold?"

"They wouldn't call me the Merchant of Death if I didn't have an eye for quality."

He didn't bother to hide the sincere smile that graced his face. "And what of Matteo? Let's just say that I have a bout of momentary stupidity, and I allow you to whisk me away into your land of dreams, fairy tales, and silk breeches. What fate befalls my brother, once my family can no longer afford his medicines?"

"Is that what keeps you there?"

"And here I thought you said your spies were the best in the world."

"Not when it comes to sentiment, perhaps. I must say even I am surprised. I never anticipated such tenderness from you."

"What can I say? I'm the fiercely loyal type."

"I knew I made the right choice. I always do. But yes, about little Matteo- I have the resources to send him to the finest hospital in Italy. The best care, the newest medicine- he will want for nothing."

"How are the nurses? Busty? I want to make sure he's cared for properly once he comes of age. He's a late bloomer, but he has to grow into a man eventually."

"I'll hire a personally selected team- and I only accept the finest."

"Well then, Signore Vercci, this is getting interesting."

"Some conditions first."

He knew this was coming somewhere down the line. Vincente braced himself for the bad news. His mind raced with the possibilities. Perhaps all of this would come at the cost of his virginity. Though he always was a shameless flirt, he never managed to get anywhere beyond a slap in the face.

"Pray tell."

"I insist that my rule remains followed: you are to remain three steps behind me at all times while walking. You will be my servant, not my equal." Acceptable, if not a tad humiliating. Vincente's smile faltered, though he still listened closely to whatever the other man had to say. "And you will address me as 'Master.'"

"...What?"

"I believe it is a fair enough trade. You will obey my every command, guard me with your life, and address me as Master. In return, I will care for your every need. This is a live-in occupation: you will be waited on by my lesser servants, provided for in every aspect of your life, and treated much like… Well, like a-"

"A dog. That's the word you were looking for."

The edges of Vercci's mouth twisted upwards into a genuinely amused smirk. "Is living the life of a pampered hound not preferable to your current dismal state?"

"Do I at least get treats and belly rubs? Will you scratch behind my ears and tell me I'm a good boy?"

"No, but if you continue on with that attitude, I _will_ leave you outside, naked, in the rain, sleet, and hail." Vincente froze in pure shock- he wasn't joking.

"I've tolerated your unfavorable behavior for the time being only because you are not yet in my employment. Note that I will not accept such discourtesy from my servants."

"No more conversation then? Ever?"

"Perhaps in lieu of treats and belly rubs. Only if you're a good boy."

He rolled his eyes, though all in good humor.

"If you wouldn't mind, however, so long as we're running with this pet metaphor, I wouldn't mind taking it a step further."

"Are you going to make me bark and a piss on a tree?"

"Nothing so crude. I'd like to name you- nothing more."

"I already have a name- it's Vincente Valerio."

"I prefer 'Voldo.'"

"What the hell is that? A food?" His face twisted in disgust at the mention of something as ridiculous as allowing another man to rename him. Even so, he protested the notion only for the sake of appearances. In truth, Vercci could have asked anything of him, and he would have agreed. A way out. An escape. While Vincente had always threatened to storm out of his house in a huff, he knew that in truth, he lacked both the courage and the opportunity to do so. Sometimes, he'd allow himself to daydream about a life of freedom, unchained from his familial burden. Even so, he never thought about the details- nothing good could come of it. Now, however, he had the chance to live not only as a free man, but as a pampered noble. While he would go on looking after this Signore Vercci, the other man would care for him in return.

"I'll have you know it's a name close to my heart. It belonged to a dear companion of mine when I was a boy. A purebred greyhound with a strong lineage. No prey ever eluded my grasp when Voldo and I went hunting together in the woods behind my family's summer villa. Even though I was always such a terrible shot, he managed to make up for my lack of skill. That's always how it went. He remained by my side for his entire life, even when he grew too old to hunt any longer. Soon enough, I was the one keeping _him_ company. I missed two business meetings, a friend's wedding, and three dates while I comforted him on his deathbed. He fell ill one winter, you see. He was always in so much pain.

It was troublesome, certainly, and those dates I missed never wanted to see me again, especially after it became common knowledge that I abandoned them to look after a dog, of all things. But Voldo had provided me with twelve wonderful years of companionship. I had my friends, and my work, and my hobbies. All Voldo had was me. I couldn't bring myself to let him die alone after all of that.

I wouldn't be naming you after just any dog, Vincente. Do you understand?"

Vincente bit his tongue to silence any insensitive, witty remarks that inevitably came into mind. Though he often spoke without thinking, even he knew that now wasn't the time for careless words. Not after this seemingly callous man had just revealed such a personal detail.

A part of him wondered if it was it just an act, meant to convince him that this 'Master Vercci' was more than just a soulless blueblood. Regardless of his doubts, however, a part of him wanted to believe that Vercci's little tale was true. Though Vincente, after years of hardship, developed an uncaring attitude towards those around him, he couldn't deny that he was, at his core, prone to sentimentality.

"…I still don't like this."

"You dislike your mother's risotto as well, but have you not grown accustomed to it? Give the name time. Only keep an open mind, and do try your best. That is all I ask of you. In return, you will never work another day in your life. At least, not in your sense of the word. Think about it: the finest clothing, all the food you can eat, and the comfort of sleeping in until midday. All you have to sacrifice is your name and just a little bit of your pride. Do you think you can do that for me?"

He thought back to the ships' itinerary back at the docks: Vercci's vessel, the warship, was scheduled to leave for Venice tomorrow morning. His arrival and interest in Vincente could only have been a miracle of God. Out of the hundreds of thousands of other peasants just like him, he would be the only one to ever receive such an opportunity.

Though a part of his mind screamed at him to reconsider his decision, fear and uncertainty built up from two decades of dull routine and mediocre subsistence drove him to desperation. Logically, he knew that he would have to be stupid to reject Vercci's offer. Signing his future away, cutting himself off from his family and home- it hardly mattered when he had so much to gain.

"…Yes, Master. Call me whatever you like."


	7. Chapter 7

As he walked home for the very last time, Voldo toyed with the golden ring nestled in his pocket. It was the token of his promise with Signore Vercci, known to him simply as "Master." In a way, he couldn't believe that the events of that day had actually occurred. He ran his thumb over the shimmering emerald embedded in the ring. That one piece of jewelry was worth more than his family's home. Even if he worked at the docks nonstop for the next fifty years, he still wouldn't be able to afford such a treasure.

It unsettled him to carry such a valuable object, though he knew that his master's men were always close, both protecting him and safeguarding against him. Though he and Vercci shared a heartfelt moment in that restaurant, Voldo didn't have a doubt in his mind that the other man would strike him down in an instant if he attempted to flee with the ring. Either he returned it to Vercci tomorrow or the merchant's men would take it back from him by force.

"Madonna! What the hell am I doing?" He stopped in the middle of the street to scold himself and whimper pathetically like a child. At this point, he didn't particularly care who saw him. Despite his dissatisfaction in life, Voldo had admittedly become accustomed to the routine. Every day, he woke up at 5:30, washed himself, got dressed, ate breakfast with his parents and Matteo, and went to work. After a sixteen hour day, he either returned home or, once a week, visited the bar with his fellow sailors. Then, it was dinner, a change of clothes, and bed. Over, and over, and over.

Though his dream had come true, and a life of luxury and care awaited him, he realized just how little initiative he possessed. Once his family's dilapidated little hovel came into view, however, all the bitterness came rushing back in a wave of overwhelming emotion that threatened to suffocate him. The loveless parents, the ungrateful children, the meager meals- it was all too much to bear. He slipped his master's golden ring around his finger before walking through the door.

"Vincente, you're home!" Matteo threw his little arm around him and squeezed with all the strength that his underdeveloped muscles could muster. …This would be his last night with his brothers. For the first time in years, Voldo hugged him back.

"Hey, Matteo. Come stai?"

"H-Huh?" With a wide-eyed, childish stare, he looked up at his older brother with pure wonder shining in his smile. "Well, I mean… Y-You know. Bene, I guess."

"What's with the affection?"

"That's what I was about to ask you! You're still hugging me, so it can't be an accident. You didn't just trip or anything, did you?"

"…Of course not." He released his grip on his brother before throwing his coat on the chair by the kitchen.

"Whoa! What's that?!" Matteo grabbed at his hand and peered at the emerald, beautiful even in the darkness. "Dio mio! Did you rob someone?! Oh, Vincente!"

"Relax. It was… a gift. From…" He couldn't bear to tell Matteo the entire truth. Not now, when he himself was still struggling to process the emotions coursing through him. "From a friend."

"Ah! Well, that's more than enough information in that case!" He didn't even last a minute before asking more questions. "Is she pretty, Vincente? She must be rich, if she can afford something like _that_!"

"She's… you know. Bene. I guess." He altered his voice to mimic Matteo's rather high pitched squeal.

"I don't sound like that!"

"You really do. Anyways, keep it down about the ring. I want to see if Mother even notices."

"She went to bed already. Do you have any idea how late it is? I stayed up because I was worried, but she… W-Well, she was tired." He appreciated the fact that Matteo bothered to lie to spare his feelings. It was clear that he already knew the truth, but the act of hiding it alone meant more than he ever realized.

"I know. She's tired, just like everyone else in this forsaken house. But I was lucky. I still had you."

"You still _have_ me. I'm not going anywhere."

"Of course not." A heavy lump rose in his throat as he held back tears. Vercci promised to send Matteo to the best hospital in Italy. A private room with a team of busty, beautiful nurses. Perhaps they'd even have the skill to replace his arms. "What's for dinner then, hm?"

"The same as every night: more 'risotto.'"

Guilt threatened to crush him as he thought back to his feast with Vercci. At the time, he didn't even think to take anything back for his brother. He was so selfish. All this time, he thought of himself as the provider, but now, when it truly mattered, he would leave his brother with no more than a promise of better days to come. Even then, Vercci had forbidden him from contacting his family. No man was to rank above him in Voldo's mind- that was what he said. No distractions, no family, no history. He would be starting again. "You waited for me, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. It's a little… a _lot_ cold by now, but it's still food."

He wasn't hungry- not after Vercci treated him to dessert afterwards, but it didn't matter. One last dinner with Matteo.

The risotto tasted the same as it always did: too watery, not enough salt, stale rice. He wouldn't miss his mother, and he certainly wouldn't miss her cooking. He didn't know what it was- the fear of leaving home or the sentimentality of his last night with his brother. Voldo pressed his hand against his mouth, silencing his sobs as the tears finally fell.

"Brother? Brother, what's wrong?" Matteo stood up from his seat and placed a comforting hand on Voldo's shoulder.

"I-It's nothing. It's this shitty risotto, and this shittier house, and my shitty job, and… and you…" He squeezed Matteo's frail hand in his own. "I was always so lucky."


	8. Chapter 8

"Vincente, wake up. It's time for breakfast."

Monotone as always, his mother called his name over and over as she tore the blankets from around his huddled form. He couldn't bear to close his eyes. Through the entire night, he glanced around his room, searing every detail into his memory, from the chipped paint on the walls to the wooden stool in the corner. Matteo sat there just the other night. How could it feel like a lifetime ago? From now on, Vincente would wake up on his own accord.

"No, Mother. I'm not going to work today."

"What are you talking about? Are you sick?" She knelt by his bedside and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. "You look fine to me."

"I'm alright, it's just my private job with Master Vercci, the man from the letter yesterday. He doesn't need me until ten. I'll get up with the children, and then I'll go."

"_Master_ Vercci? He must be important, if you're showing him any respect."

He couldn't answer. Instead, he spent the time studying the deep wrinkles in his mother's face. She was young, only thirty five years old, but the stress of raising five boys took its toll on her body. "He earned it."

"And your father and I didn't?" Angry as ever. Perhaps she only needed someone to blame, just like Voldo did, taking his anger out on a twelve year old boy.

"Blood alone does not a family make."

"I did my best. How long are you going to hold that against me?"

"I already let it go. But like I said, Master Vercci doesn't need me for another five hours or so."

And that was that. She left without another word. Where was his catharsis? His justification? Instead, he only looked down at that emerald ring, which his mother failed to notice, and he felt so very empty.

"Vincente, wake up. It's been over four hours."

"Yes, Mother."

She didn't know quite what to say as she watched her eldest son obey her command without a single hesitation. How sad had their life become that she had grown to expect his fierce resistance at every turn?

"Vincente, tell me about this 'Master Vercci.' What is he like?"

"We're very similar, he and I. You wouldn't like him."

"You seem fond of the man."

"Of course I do. He offered me a wonderful opportunity, and I would be a fool not to take it." He didn't know who he was trying to convince. "You should go downstairs, Mother. I need to change."

She nodded and exited the room, though she called to him from the hallway. "You should hurry to breakfast. Matteo has been going on and on about a girl of yours. …You should tell us about her, and don't be as brief as your description of Vercci. Go into detail. Embellish a little. You always were a bit of a storyteller."

His master's emerald ring glinted dangerously in the sunlight. There was no going back: he was no longer Vincente Valerio; he was Voldo, Vercci's newest guard dog. If he worked hard, if he defended his master to the best of his ability, would the man sit beside him at his deathbed? Would he sacrifice suitors and business ventures alike, all to keep him company?

Matteo certainly would have.

Voldo tried not to think about it. Instead, he threw on his clothes and joined his family for their last hour together. His bread and butter went untouched as he looked around the table from face to face. Why did they always have to talk? For this, the last hour of his life, he just wanted them to look at each other.

"Vincente, tell us about your girlfriend!" Matteo chimed in with his usual morning cheer. It was time. He couldn't put if off any longer.

"There is no girlfriend, Matteo."

He took his time to explain it all, from their first meeting, to his gluttony, to his promise- he would serve Vercci faithfully until the day he died. In return, he would be granted the comfort and security of a nobleman. Matteo's stay in the hospital was added on as an afterthought. Vincente knew that he truly took the deal only for his own sake. His family never said a word. Perhaps they couldn't even begin to process any of it. What felt like decades of awkward silence suffocated them all until Matteo, always the bravest of them all, managed to break it.

"…You made the right choice, Vincente. You've been making sacrifices for us for far too long, and for remembering to consider me, I… I am grateful. And so very lucky to have such a wonderful big brother."

"Wonderful?! How could you do this to us?!" His mother wailed like a dying woman until once again, his father shut her up.

"Perhaps we've all had it a long time coming. What did you expect? Loyalty from _him_? After everything we've done to each other? Like the nobles and the priests say, we were wrong to challenge our place in this world. Pull the boys out of school and send them to work! Say farewell to _fucking _Vincente, the only one smart enough to run while he still could."

It was all a nightmare. Everything was falling apart. Surely, his mother would come storming into his bedroom any second now to tear his sheets away. Instead, a knock on the door jolted him from his reverie. He already knew who it was. As he took one last look at his family, he realized that they did as well. They never were as stupid as he always made them out to be. He opened the door and bowed low, just as his master taught him.

"I thought I told you to meet me at the harbor at exactly ten in the morning."

"I apologize, Master, I was just-"

"Is this your family? The one you complained about all night?" The unappreciative children, the whore of a mother, the lazy father, and the useless cripple. Voldo could tell from his master's expression that the details of what he said were right there, nestled on the tip of his tongue.

"Master, please don't say anything further. I won't do it again."

"Make sure of it. I don't tolerate tardiness from my staff. Now then, come along Voldo."

"Brother!" Despite his earlier claims and his brave face, Matteo ran from the kitchen and clung to Voldo's arm before he could follow after Vercci. "Y-You'll visit, won't you? You'll come back… Won't you?"

"Voldo, this is your last warning. Delay my journey one more second, and I will flay the skin from your back."

He couldn't believe it. Would Vercci actually whip him? It hardly mattered. For Matteo's sake, he would suffer a thousand lashes. He pulled the boy close to him for one last hug. "You'll be fine. You, and our brothers, and Mother and Father. You'll be getting the best treatment available, and without us around, perhaps things will be easier for everyone else as well. Everything will work out."

"You didn't answer my question!" Matteo whimpered as he pressed his cheek against his brother's chest.

"…You'll be alright. I always brought you nothing but trouble."

Vercci's polished shoes tapped impatiently against the gravel, and Voldo knew that he would pay dearly for his insolence. He pulled away from his brother's embrace with a forced smile that shattered the second he turned away to face his master.

"I hope that tearful little goodbye was worth it," Vercci mumbled from three paces ahead of him.

"Yes, Master. It was."


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's note: Apologies for the delay! Things have been busy, with the end of the semester and with my travels abroad, but I hope to continue updating this fanfic on a more regular basis from now on._

_As a quick summary, our dear friend Vincente Valerio, now better known as Voldo, has left his home in Palermo to travel the world with the infamous Merchant of Death. After angering him with his disobedience, however, Voldo must now endure the first of many punishments to come. _

_Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the story I've written!_

_-Valentín  
_

* * *

Time slowed to a standstill as he dislocated himself from his surroundings, all blurred shades of red and black. Bile seeped through the edges of his gag, only to intermingle with the pool of blood beneath his feet. From somewhere behind him, his master cranked a lever, tugging the chain attached to his manacles ever closer towards the ceiling, once again forcing him to stand on tiptoe.

So his punishment wasn't over after all.

How many times had they cycled through the same song and dance? His master would hoist him up and beat him bloody until his shrill screams, unable to be contained by the flimsy strip of leather in his mouth, pierced through the ship as he begged for mercy, for death, _for his brother_. Just when darkness would creep across the edges of his vision, his master would snap him back into reality by lowering his chains and allowing him a moment's respite, standing on his own two feet. Of course, Voldo couldn't quite support his own weight. Not anymore. Even with the chains lowered, he dangled motionlessly by his wrists. Now, he lacked even the strength to struggle.

His master's whip cut through the air with a wicked crack, slamming down against his shoulder blades, the flesh already torn to ribbons. Like a child, he whimpered beneath his gag as his master switched to the riding crop. From his shoulders to the top of his thighs, Voldo's back was reduced to bloody mincemeat. His eyes rolled up in their sockets as he drifted in and out of sweet unconsciousness.

"…Let me ask you again. Was it worth it, Voldo? Speaking to that little brat, delaying my departure. Was it worth all of this?!"

The riding crop tore another jagged wound across his broken body. Voldo lacked the energy to waste time on tears. After all, his master only hit him harder when he wept. Instead, he hung limply from his chains as fresh blood from both new and reopened wounds trickled steadily down his trembling bare legs.

Vercci tore off his gag with a bitter scowl. "If you don't answer me, I swear, I will skin you alive here and now."

Despite his exhaustion, Voldo focused the last of his energy to respond, with his throat chafed raw from hours of screaming. "...Y-Yes. …It was."

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or just the weakness in his bones, but in the end, Voldo could have sworn his master smiled.

"So, you have some ties to old allegiances after all. Not matter. We will rid you of them soon enough. For now, however, I suppose that we can wait."

Vercci released the mechanism holding Voldo's chains to the ceiling, sending the other man crashing to the floor into a pool of his own blood.

He wailed, unable to determine which source of searing pain tormented him most- the crushing ache in his shoulders or the torn flesh on his back. What he wouldn't have given to be back on the docks, at the beck and call of his taskmaster. The old man worked him hard, but he was fair, allowing him every other Christmas as a day off and gifting him a little bonus on his birthday. At the very least, he never whipped him- never watched on with a smile and a laugh as he, covered in blood and bile, struggled to push himself up onto his hands and knees. He couldn't stand; not like this. Gasping for breath, Voldo collapsed, finally succumbing to exhaustion. In the moments before he slipped back into unconsciousness, he vaguely felt his master's fingers weaving through his hair.


	10. Chapter 10

Voldo awoke to the clatter of silverware and the whispers of curious maids. In spite of the pulsing agony in his body, he shifted his legs, trembling at the unfamiliar sensation of soft satin sheets gliding across his bare skin, shaved hairless while he slept. Half out of fear, he buried his face against the soft, downy pillows. Perhaps if God took mercy on him, he would awaken in his childhood home, ready to start another grueling yet familiar day at work. His eyes snapped open as he adjusted to the reality of his situation: he was naked and injured in another man's bed, trapped in an unfamiliar ship floating in an undisclosed location in the ocean.

Despite the knowledge that he had nowhere to go, the instinct to flee overpowered his systems, rushing within his veins and burning through his chest. His breaths grew ragged as he panicked, struggling against the surprising weight of plush blankets.

"What a stupid boy. Are you so eager to reopen your wounds?" Voldo flinched, freezing in place as the distinctive tap of his master's footsteps grew louder and louder still.

"…Were you watching me sleep?" he muttered, with bitterness clear in his tone. He hadn't forgotten what transpired only the evening prior.

"As a merchant, I've gotten into the habit of closely monitoring my investments. If it appears that a business venture will not profit, then I prefer to cut my losses early rather than waste precious time and resources attempting to salvage the unsalvageable."

Voldo bit his lip, stifling the stream of profanities that threatened to spill forth from within him. "Is that it, then? Am I just… an investment? This isn't what you promised me; this isn't what I wanted! I am a man, _Master_, and I-"

"Very well, then. Let us turn this ship around and deposit you back into that little hovel you called a home. As for your brother, I certainly hope he has enjoyed his very short stay at the finest hospital in Italy. Perhaps you can ask him about it later, if he ever deigns to speak to you again." Vercci sighed, though more out of amusement than anything else. "Were you never taught that actions have consequences? You have made your own bed, dear Voldo, and now you must lie in it. …Rather literally, I'm afraid. I doubt you will regain sufficient strength to walk any time in the near future, judging by the state of your thighs."

A playful smile spread across his face as he realized that his servant, like a petulant child, intended to remain silent, ignoring him for the remainder of the day. "…Now then, would you like to eat breakfast, or do you intend to lie there motionlessly, pouting and wallowing in your own misery? If you prefer an empty stomach to compliment your bloodied back, 'tis your decision."

_Keep your fucking food_. The words were on the tip of his tongue, his lips curled around the very first syllable, yet when the maids, as if on cue, removed the lids from their silver platters, his body never felt so heavy.

As the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread and rich cheeses enveloped him, he snuggled against the bedding, cocooning himself in its warmth. With whispered words of praise, his master snaked his hand underneath the blankets to gently stroke the soiled bandages covering the tattered remains of his back. A dull ache shot through his torn muscles at the sudden contact, with a sharper pain burning through him as he thrashed in Vercci's grasp. But the man only held him as he struggled, with a firm grip on the back of his neck, as if soothing a startled colt. Despite himself, Voldo soon relaxed into the touch, even after his initial protests. And so there he stayed, huddled against his master, as the maids arranged their silver trays and platters before him like an offering.

It was all too much: the warmth and comfort, the fragrant scent of herbs and the promise of food to come, and his master's steady arm wrapped securely around him. Even after being bound, gagged, and flogged by that very same man, Voldo couldn't recall a time when he had ever felt so precious.

His anger melted away as he found himself prodding at a sweet roll while his master cooed at him, urging him to try a bit of this and a pinch of that. Despite himself, with the very first bite of his breakfast, Voldo shuddered at the burst of sweetness on his tongue, as he struggled in vain to stifle the little pleasured whimper that escaped his lips.

With dread rising in the pit of his stomach, he awaited Vercci's taunts with cold silence. And yet, the cruel words never came. Instead, his master only pushed the plates closer to him in encouragement before resuming his ministrations, stroking comforting little circles into the tattered skin of his back.

"Don't you want to eat anything?" Voldo mumbled almost as an afterthought.

"Later, once you've finished, and I've put you to bed with a full stomach and clean bandages."

"How very considerate of you," he stated, deadpan. "Don't think you can win me over with tea and sweetmeats. …I won't forget what you did to me."

"Of course not. I expect nothing less," replied his master, with that same, steady smile. "…Tell me, dear Voldo, what do you know of hunting? When taming a hound, one must take care to exact an appropriate punishment following the inevitable first transgression. An initial display of authority sets the basis for one's entire relationship. Allow a hound to go unpunished once, and it comes to view you as a lesser member of the pack for years to come. …Do you understand? I've no grudge against you, my dear. All is forgiven."

"How generous." If he weren't so utterly exhausted, he would have smashed his knuckles into Vercci's face. Voldo closed his eyes and imagined his master's nose, swollen and erupting with blood after a particularly brutal punch. Instead of following through with his forbidden desires, however, Voldo shoveled another pile of pastries into his mouth as he tried and failed to remain bitter.


End file.
